Figure 8
by Parthenon15
Summary: What goes around, come around. Set in 667 Dark Avenue, Violet searches for her ribbon and some mysterious footsteps, but when she goes down to talk with the doorman, will she find something more? ONE SHOT!


**Hey guys, it's been a while but I decided to write a one-shot. This is my first time writing one, so any constructive criticism is welcome. This story is set in the sixth book, The Ersatz Elevator, where the hook-handed man (aka Fernald) is disguised as the doorman. This is my take on one of the nights where the Baudelaires are in the midst of finding Gunther, but Violet ends up having to spend time with Fernald. Will something good come out of the bad? I hope you enjoy it! **

**P.S. Thanks for all the previous reviews for my other fanfics. (Will continue them soon.)**

**A Series of Unfortunate Events**** belongs to Lemony Snicket, I don't own anything, just wanted to write for fun.**

**Figure 8**

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Her eyes quickly looked up at the blank ceiling. Her slender hands slowly stopped the complex knot to be twisted.

Figure eight, in fact.

Infinite.

Forever.

Her hands swung as she walked over her brother's room. She twisted the doorknob, not even bothering to knock. A ray of light escaped and kept flooding the floor, it illuminated the furniture. Clearly, she found her brother deeply invested in the In Auction Catalogue, his face contoured by light and darkness, the light jumping off his glasses.

"Did you hear that?" Violet whispered, peeking out the door.

"Hmm- What?" Klaus responded.

Violet shook her head. "The footsteps."

Klaus arched one of his eyebrows and pushed back his glasses. "It's getting late, you must be tired."

"Nevermind."

Her hand pulled the door shut. She scratched her forehead, thinking about the strange noise. She touched her hair, soft, a little tangled. Something would make it better for her to concentrate.

She dipped her fingers in her pocket. She felt the soft fabric of her dress only to notice the absence of her ribbon. Her hand passed over her head, checking if it was already tied up. It disappeared.

Violet swung the door open, and shut it loudly. Klaus jumped up and looked at his sister.

"Have you seen my ribbon around?" Violet asked, exasperated.

"No. Have you checked your room?"

Violet shook her head. "You don't think I left it around the penthouse, right?"

Klaus sighed. "That's going to take forever to find."

"I don't care how long it takes, I need it now."

"Violet, I can't abandon my research now. It's between life and death for the Quagmires. I'm sure it'll turn up tomorrow."

Violet sighed in frustration. "Fine. I guess I should just sleep."

Klaus went back to his book. She paused to look at Klaus. Couldn't he see that her ribbon meant so much to her? Violet slipped out of the room, putting her back against the door. She thought about the last place she saw her ribbon, her memories were jumbled. She might as well start at her room.

Violet switched the light on, opening drawers, rummaging through the pile of pinstripe clothing. Nothing came up. She groaned at the thought of searching the penthouse.

* * *

The night grew older, the maze of kitchens, dining rooms, recreational rooms, bedrooms, furnaces, bathrooms, contained no trace of her beloved ribbon. How was she going to invent without it? She couldn't just replace it with another one. Violet sat down beside the front door, tired of the hunt.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The subtle sounds of footsteps entered Violet's ears again. They continued to pace back and forth from above. It made her uneasy. Who was up there? She glanced at the items before her, a basket with a variety of umbrellas, ones with metal tips, and others with plastic. There was also a loveseat, where one can sit down and wait for Jerome and Esmé to come welcome guests.

They were perfect.

She quietly grabbed the end of an umbrella with a metal tip and climbed up the couch. Her feet sunk on the elaborate stitched cushions. She looked up and knocked on the ceiling with the umbrella.

The footsteps stop in the midst of her jabbing the ceiling.

Violet furrows her brow.

* * *

"I'm going upstairs." Violet said, crossing her arms.

"Violet there isn't a floor above us," Klaus said, putting a finger between the pages, marking where he left off. "It might just be some workers fixing the roof."

"If they were, the sound of hammers would've been present, and tools are out," Violet responded. "And why would they do it so late at this hour?"

Klaus stood up from his seat. "Violet –"

"Klaus, what if Olaf never really came down, maybe he went up?"

Klaus fell silent, placing his hands on the desk next to him. He turned around to face Violet.

"Well, if you put it that way –"

"Then I should investigate."

He sighed. "Be careful. I doubt anyone is awake right now, but that makes you more vulnerable of being a target for Olaf."

"Don't worry, I'll come back." Violet said. "Keep an eye on Sunny."

She left before he could say anything.

Klaus nodded, opened the catalogue, and turned the page.

* * *

Violet closes the door quietly and stares at the ceiling again. It was a cream colored plane, the gold decorations framing the dimensions. Along the way she grabbed the umbrella, an acceptable object if anyone attacked her from behind.

She turned around, noticing her isolation among the closed doors and the pair of elevators. Shuffling her feet, the carpet felt crisp and clean, the staircase banister polished, and tempting Violet's instinct to descend from it.

"_I doubt anyone is awake right now…"_

Violet moved towards the staircase, leaned in and saw the endless swirl of wood descending before her.

_CREEEAK._

Violet turned around and saw the pair of elevators, static, slick, the metal standing tall. No one was around, surely.

_CREEEAK._

Violet picked up the distant sound, and went back, observing the depths of the staircase. In the middle of the pinhole amongst polished wood, a figure in a red uniform walked around grabbing a box in his arms.

The doorman. Maybe he knows.

She placed her hands and sat on the smooth wood, and let herself fly. Closing her eyes, she slid on the rail, the wind letting her sleeves fluttering, warping themselves, hugging her arms, her hands pointing ahead to her destination.

She wished it could go forever.

Forever.

A pang resonated in her chest.

* * *

He crunched the sand beneath his feet.

His footsteps were muffled with the overflow of sand in the lobby. Handling a box full of ocean decoration proved to be a difficult task for him. He had to look down, watching for any debris until he saw something peculiar.

A thin piece of dark red fabric lay on the sand.

He knew who's it was.

He saw it every day in fact, even in dreams.

He had troubling balancing the box and picking it up but he finally grabbed it. He pulled it close, feeling surreal to have it there so close in his grasp. It looked alive.

_Knock it off. _He reminded himself.

He carefully put it on the front desk and continued with his duty. Fernald tossed the box, crouching down to look for an adequate object to throw on the wall. He wanted to get this scheme over with. One thing is scheming with the troupe but handling the attitude of wealthy people made his head spin. The coffee helped though, it made him more aware.

But it was more than that.

Knowing Violet was around even for a few minutes around, helped. It made him wonder how her mind functioned.

He hoped, somehow that he was a part of her thoughts. He remembered the first time she came in the building, already eager to be put to the challenge.

"_Is the elevator out of order?" Violet asked. "I'm very good with mechanical devices, and I'd be happy to take a look at it." _

"_That's a very kind and unusual offer," He said. "But the elevator isn't out of order. It's just out…"_

Suddenly, he heard a spray of sand rustle and a hard thump on the floor. He turned around.

His heart jumped.

* * *

Opening her eyes, she found herself lying in the middle of the lobby, the floor draped with sand, seashells scattered about. She heard footsteps coming and slowly turned around and saw the doorman, checking on the sudden thud, his hand clumsily clutching a wooden carved starfish and glue on the other. Despite the wide brim of his hat, Violet took a glimpse of his face, catching his sharp jawline and brown beady eyes.

Her heart jumped.

Fernald noticed her examining him and tilted his hat with his sleeves, obstructing her view.

"Are you hurt, ma'am?" He said.

"No, I'm-I'm fine," Violet said, standing up and wiping the sand off her pajamas. "I'm such a klutz."

"Spot on." He agreed.

Violet narrowed her eyes. "Have you by any chance, seen a ribbon down here?"

"A ribbon," Fernald said. "What color is it?"

"Burgundy." She answered while picking up the umbrella.

"Burgundy…" Fernald said. "No but I've seen a wine colored one."

"That must be it." Violet said.

"It can't be," He responded. "You told me its burgundy. Wine and burgundy are completely different colors."

"They're in the same spectrum of reds." She said. "May I have it back?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

"Why?" Violet asked, confused.

"For all I know, you might want to steal it so it can match your dress or sell it in the In Auction." He said, walking towards the elevator, putting a glob of glue on the starfish.

"It's mine and I need it back, it's invaluable."

Fernald stopped his duty. "Invaluable?"

He looked back at his decorative endeavors and looked back at Violet, smiling mischievously.

"I'll give you back the ribbon if you help me with these decorations."

Violet gaped in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Very."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

He went over the front desk and plucked the ribbon under the pile of papers.

"Is this it?" He said, flailing it around.

"Yes." Violet said coming forward. As soon as she was close to him, he put it behind him.

She groaned. "Oh come on, it's the middle of the night."

He didn't budge. "No time of the day invalidates the negotiation."

"I'll get it back tomorrow," Violet said, turning around, having enough. "Have yourself a good night."

She started climbing up the stairs, until Fernald cleared his throat.

She stopped. "What now?"

"I'm afraid you aren't allowed to go back to the penthouse."

Violet turned around. "With all due respect, but you're insane. If you'll excuse me-"

Fernald immediately climbed on the staircase and blocked Violet's way. She looked up at him with hatred.

"I have an umbrella." Violet threatened.

"And?" The doorman shrugged under his oversized coat, putting his hands behind his back.

"I can attack you with it."

"No need for violence." He said, shaking his head.

"I don't have time for this."

"How about we settle this like equals, huh? How about some sword fighting?"

"With umbrellas?" Violet asked, unbelievably.

"Absolutely."

"Where are the decorations?" Violet mumbled, rolling her eyes, turning away from him.

"Right by the elevator." Fernald grinned.

* * *

"It's inefficient and unpresentable. What were you thinking?" Violet said in disgust, taking the starfish off the elevator doors.

"I thought about you." He responded, drinking his cup of coffee with his two hands, covered by his long sleeves.

"Quit it." She said.

He smirked. He liked bothering her; it was the only thing he was good at.

"We need thread, fabric, and," Violet said, trailing off until she opened the umbrella in her hand. "This."

"Why?"

"You're making a display about the ocean," Violet said, as she walked around. She pointed at the walls. "They're already painted blue, so you need fish, crabs-

"Octopuses." He finished.

"Loch ness monster." She suggested.

"That's ambitious." He said, impressed. "By the way, it's not a monster, it's just misunderstood."

"Go fetch me a ladder and lots of push pins." Violet said, ignoring his comment. Fernald stayed in his place, looking at her.

"Now." Violet insinuated.

"Oh, right." He said, putting down his cup in the sand, running toward the desk.

* * *

The two worked in silence. Violet sewed pieces of blue fabric together, and Fernald tossed mermaid tablecloths at the tables. Violet looked up at him once in a while and noticed how he often had trouble doing simple tasks. He hugged vases and carefully set them on the floor. Sometimes, he would mumble under his breath, kicking sand up in the air out of frustration while he made sculpted sandcastles.

She wondered why his hat was so wide, his sleeves extending past his hands. Most of all, she wondered why she kept getting butterflies in her stomach whenever she saw him. He was mysterious, it intrigued her that he always treated her politely, he even teased her too.

The strange thing was she wished he would continue.

She slowly punctured the fabric and tugged the thread upwards.

"Why don't you roll your sleeves up?" Violet asked.

"Why do you need to wear a ribbon?" He asked.

She realized it was going to be a difficult conversation. "To concentrate. You?"

Fernald needed something quick to answer. "My…my hands are cold."

Violet grinned. "You had to think about it?"

"I've got a lot on my mind." He said, grabbing the cup of coffee, drinking the last remnants of the liquid.

"Like what?"

"Well," He started. "I have to finish this in the morning or I'm this close to getting fired." He meant to show his hand; instead he just made his sleeve move around. "And I've got to attend the In Auction."

He hesitated to go any further. There she was, all to himself, no one could interfere. "Are you coming with your siblings?

"I can't guarantee that." She said, walking towards the front desk. She kneeled down, opening cupboards, searching for more thread. She mustered up courage to ask him. "Why? Do you want me to go?"

"It'd be nice. I like having you around." He confessed.

Violet picked another spool of thread, and smiled. "Maybe I'll convince Jerome to let me come then."

The phone atop the desk rang. A blinking red light showed up in the device.

"I've got it." He said, walking towards it.

"Who would call at this time?" She asked. The ringing made an annoying noise. She wanted to do something about it. "Its fine, I'll pick it up."

"Wait, no-"He said, running towards her.

Violet raised the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hooky, we're all set," A scratchy man's voice said. "Dial Esmé and give her the status."

"Excuse me? Who is this?" Violet asked. Fernald struggled to get the phone. Violet dodged his attempts.

"Are you kidding me? It's me, your boss-"The man replied.

He snatched the phone away, juggling until he properly placed it to his ear.

"Good evening. Yes? Sorry about that. Alright, yes. Bye." He put the phone back in its place, sighing in relief.

"Who was that?" Violet said, crossing her arms.

"Some crazy man." He dismissed. "It's none of your business anyway."

"He mentioned Mrs. Squalor."

"There are a lot of people with her name."

"Who's hooky then?"

Fernald stood still, trying to maintain his composure. "I have no clue. Are you done?"

Violet stared at him suspiciously. "You know, I don't think we've properly introduced ourselves. "

"We haven't?" He said.

"Well, I don't really know your name."

_It's Fernald. _"It's Lucafont." He lied.

"I'm Violet." She said, extending her hand. He shook it oddly. _I know._

"Your name sounds familiar to me," Violet added.

Fernald tensed. He looked down, avoiding her as much as possible. Moments with her alone were too precious to jeopardize.

"You don't think we've met each other before?" Violet finally asked.

"No, I don't think so." He politely replied. He went back to his work, smoothing out a small replica of 667 Dark Avenue. He ignored her. He hated acting like somebody else.

_Stupid ordinary doorman._

* * *

Violet checked if all the seams were interconnected. It looked good. "I think this is ready."

He turned around. "What's that for?" He asked, curiously looking at the blue fabric.

"The ceiling, it's meant to be waves." Violet said, walking over to the ladder. "If we put a fan at that height and turn it on, it'll oscillate."

"What does that mean?"

"It looks as if it's moving." She said, grabbing a few push pins between her lips, climbing on the ladder. Fernald stood up, and went over her side.

"Need any help?"

"None whatsoever." She said, putting the push pins at the top of the ladder. She pushed the fabric against the ceiling.

Her thoughts suddenly turned to the footsteps she heard earlier. The anxiety bubbled up in her, worried about her siblings, probably sleeping at this very moment.

Her foot still stood at the ridged metal step but, she had trouble putting the fabric to the wall.

Her chest froze. What if Olaf was there in the penthouse?

She moved her foot to the edge, trying to push the pin against the strong plane of cement.

What if he already entered her siblings' room?

What if –

Her foot shook out of place. The ladder fell sideways, making sand somersault. Her body lost hold of balance. The world blurred, lights turned to blotches of color, blue swiped her vision. She screamed.

Fernald turned around, startled at her falling. "Violet!" Fernald yelled. He ran to her.

Her fall broke, Fernald sighing in relief. She found herself in his arms, her hand on his chest. Under his coat, she felt his heartbeat grow faster. She pulled her hand away, embarrassed. "Are you all right?" He asked, worried.

"Yeah," She said, confused. "Sorry, I- I wasn't focused enough."

"You could've died!" he yelled, putting her on the couch, nestled into the far corner of the lobby. "Don't do anything else-"

"Are you sure Count Olaf hasn't come in this building?" She suddenly asked.

"Violet-"

"Please, just answer the question, "She said, trying to look into his eyes. "For my sake."

He sighed. He squished his eyes shut. He had to lie to her again.

"I'm positive he has never been here." He told her.

There was no answer.

"And he never will." Fernald promised.

Violet looked at him, hugging her knees.

"Could you get me some coffee?" She asked quietly.

He chuckled, stopping himself from doing anything rash.

* * *

Violet and Fernald both sat on the couch, tired from all the work. The lobby seemed like an underwater empire clad with waves billowing above them, fauna and flora specifically placed, and the loch ness monster hovered over the lobby, a silhouette made by the lamps illuminating the space.

Violet sipped her coffee. She noticed he liked it without sugar. It was too bitter for her taste. She quickly grabbed the can of cream from the coffee table and poured a hefty amount.

"Damn it." He muttered, shaking the sand out of his shoes. "I feel bad for whoever is going to pick up the sand."

Violet giggled. "You have it good unlike the waiters at Café Salmonella."

"Never trust waiters, they turn out to be traitors," He said. "Especially when they dress up as salmon."

"What's wrong with salmon?" She asked.

"They have that nasty shade of pink."

"True. I don't like bright pinks either."

She wriggled her toes in the sand. It was cold above her feet. She slid her foot and flattened the sand, and with her big toe, carved the infinity sign.

"What's that?"

"Oh, um, "Violet stuttered. " It's the symbol for infinity."

"Infinity? Looks like an eight to me."

"Well, the difference is the direction it's drawn."

"Does it matter?"

"Of course, it's a difference in mathematical values. Eight is smaller than infinity. It's-"

"Boundless." He finished.

"Right." She said.

Violet wanted to ask, but the question itself sounded silly. Maybe she was tired at the time, with all the stress from the past few days, she was bound to burnout. The coffee helped immensely though. She tapped her thumb on the mug, feeling impatient.

"Is there someone living on the rooftop?"

Fernald scoffed.

Violet looked at him.

"Do you want me to answer the question?"

Violet nodded.

"Of course not! Who would live there? Constant sunlight, a few dashes of rain, terrible place to live."

"I just thought-" Violet began. "I mean- Tonight, I heard footsteps above my room. The whole penthouse actually."

"You were dreaming."

"I wasn't. In fact, I was practicing my knots, it's the only thing I can do without the help of tools."

"What kind of pastime is that?" The doorman chuckled.

"An inventor's."

"Right, you told me you had a thing for mechanical devices." He said. "You paint the future."

"You could say that, "Violet agreed. She felt his warmth against her arm. "Well…"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to take me up there?"

"You don't believe me."

"I can read you like a book."

"You're insulting me." Fernald said. "I can't abandon my post anyway." He wanted to. It would be perfect at least for the last time.

"Are you saying there is a way to go all the way to the top of this building?"

"Wait. What? I never-"

"You just said it. You can't back out now."

He lost his guard for a second and she was quick enough to notice the gaps. He should never underestimate her from now on.

"Come on, I'll show you something." He sat the coffee atop the table and walked past the desk, turning a corner. Violet followed him through a hallway, some walls we're covered in white crumpled fabric.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Hold on, we're almost there."

He finally stopped in the middle of the hallway, Violet behind him. He lazily shoved the curtain to the side. He struggled to open a small rectangular space, hollow in contrast to the whole wall, but it finally gave in. The space inside had dust on the floor, it was enough to fit one person.

"A dumbwaiter?" Violet said.

"It's the only alternative. You do know how to operate one of these, right?"

"Of course, these are just miniature elevators. Let's just hope we're not food for a giant."

"Ladies first." He said, smiling.

Violet climbed in, folding her legs, putting her knees close to her face. The walls were washed grey, moss stains splattered, the framework made of balsa wood. In front of her was a rusted pulley, the rope was rough, curling towards the top. Suddenly, the dumbwaiter dropped a few inches. Violet touched the wall for some support and saw that the doorman was climbing in too.

"Isn't it better if we took turns?" Violet asked.

Fernald sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder. "I'm sure it'll hold us both."

"If it tumbles down, I'm holding you accountable."

"It's not. Go ahead, pull the rope." He said, closing the small doors, making the space grew a few shades darker.

"I know! I know!"

Violet pulled on the rope, tugging it downwards. She felt the dumbwaiter rising, the springs underneath squeaked from old age. She gazed towards the top, seeking what came at the end of the route.

Fernald looked at Violet. He noticed how her eyes had a sparkle whenever she was with a device. It was as if she was trapped in a state of complete focus, and he was one of the lucky few to witness it. The air started to cool; little strands of wind entered the vehicle. Violet continued to pull, but the pulley gave no more. She faced the doorman, recording every edge of his being. She felt the air charge with tension; her senses heightened and she heard his breathing, how the air grazed her ear, craving to see his face.

"I'm ready whenever you're ready." He whispered, leaving her in a daze.

She took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

* * *

The wind tugged on her pajamas, the cold made her all the more awake. Little dots of light sparkled, scattered amongst the buildings, houses and alleys. Cars seemed like fireflies, all moving in the same direction, their eyes illuminated. The sky draped over the city, showing off the twinkling stars. The surface was dusty.

"Beautiful isn't it?" He said.

"Yes." She whispered.

It soon turned silent, her thoughts pensive, decoding his train of thought. His were tense, anxious, worried that the illusion, the circumstances would bring him back to his dreary reality.

"Do you often come here?" She asked suddenly.

The doorman nodded. "It's nice to have a little space for your own."

"What's on your mind?"

He sighed, and put his hands in his pockets. "Someone special."

"What's she like?"

He grinned in embarrassment. "She's strong, courageous, and intelligent, nothing like me."

"Does she know?"

"Know what?"

"How you feel?"

"It's not worth it."

Violet was confused. "Why not?"

"Because she'll never forgive me."

"What have you done?"

"Terrible things."

"Everyone has a side of trouble."

"But few empathize."

"I doubt it." She said. "How long has this happened?"

"A while." He replied. There was silence filling the gap. "Actually it feels like forever."

"What are you waiting for?" Violet asked.

The doorman turned to her. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is. I'm sure you're capable of it."

He shook his head. "There's too much at stake."

"I think you have to give yourself a chance to say what's on your mind. Like what you're doing now with me."

He doorman looked back at the city; the sun was creeping out, the cobalt sky transformed into a lighter shade of blue.

"You think so?"

She nodded.

He started pulling something out of his pocket.

"Before I forget," He said. He handed out the ribbon to her, fluttering between his two hands. "I believe you've worked hard for this."

"Thank you." Violet said, touching the ribbon between her fingers.

Violet tied her ribbon and kept it out of her eyes, seeing the landscape clearly, and smiling at the doorman. She felt complete. She walked towards him, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes.

"Tie up the loose ends with her." She said.

He smiled back, looking at her scintillating despite the darkness around. They were close, his hat covered them both. He heard her breathing; he finally looked into her eyes.

She held his gaze. She recognized him, only he was different, his features were something new, relaxed. Her eyes kindled his soul.

He inched closer, moving his arm, his sleeve descended, revealing his shiny hook. The metal brushed under her chin. Violet felt her breath grow heavy. He leaned in. Violet parted her lips before he took them with his own.

Time felt infinite.

He tasted of coffee and smoke. Like something burning. She breathed in the smoke. She didn't mind it. For once in her life, she wanted to be consumed by it.

His mind drowned whenever he touched her lips. He grazed her cheek with the cold metal. She shivered.

Slowly he pulled back, and rested his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.

_Forever._

_Infinite._

"I hope I did." He whispered to her.

_Figure eight, in fact._


End file.
